


To Love With Such Force

by Vegan_Venom



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Enjolras, Asexual Relationship, Canon Era, Combeferre & Enjolras Platonic Life Partners, Gen, M/M, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Friendship, Sharing a Bed, one-sided sexual attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 18:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10746924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vegan_Venom/pseuds/Vegan_Venom
Summary: Combeferre's progress towards understanding his friendship with Enjolras is only momentarily diverted by Combeferre's reaction to sharing a bed with him.





	To Love With Such Force

**Author's Note:**

> NB: Contains one character feeling sexual attraction to an ace character, just in case that is something you don't want to read.

His feelings for Enjolras had bloomed not slowly but surely. When they’d first been introduced, Combeferre had been delighted to find someone with whom he could discuss philosophy for hours, not just as an abstract concept and an amusing academic pursuit for socialites, but to reason out the causes of the suffering of the people and what should be done about it. 

Though they differed in their favoured approaches they became friends immediately, so close that in only the second week of their acquaintance one might have assumed they had known one another since childhood. Combeferre found himself thinking of the other young man constantly: ‘What would Enjolras think of this paragraph?’, ‘Perhaps I ought to buy a pastry for Enjolras also, in case he has forgotten to eat’, ‘I wish Enjolras were here, so that I might show him this fine species of butterfly’.

Fortunately Enjolras seemed to be of the same mind, recommending Combeferre books which had caught his interest, making a habit of testing his speeches out on him, and stopping by his rooms frequently. At first Enjolras would always knock on his door with some pretext: the proofreading of a pamphlet, the returning of a borrowed tome, or to urgently discuss some idea which had occurred to him. But soon, Enjolras needed no reason. He would come by Combeferre’s rooms, which were not far from his own, almost every evening. Sometimes they spent the whole night in rapt conversation, debating this or that topic, but others passed in comfortable silence, Combeferre reading or conducting an experiment, and Enjolras scribbling at the desk. 

The first time that they talked for long enough that the hour became too late for Enjolras to return home safely, Combeferre insisted that he stay, and they both slept comfortably beside one another in the large bed. The second time, Enjolras needed no invitation, and when they heard distant bells announcing that it was two hours past midnight, Enjolras rose from the wooden chair and moved to beside the bed, stretching his arms above his head to straighten his back after sitting for so long.

“Are you coming to bed soon?” Enjolras asked, shrugging off his already-unbuttoned waistcoat and then unpicking the knot in his loosened cravat.

In his armchair on the other side of the room, Combeferre flushed. Watching his friend undress whilst asking such a question was bringing rather inappropriate thoughts to mind. He returned his gaze swiftly to the pages of his book, and made himself answer in a composed manner. “Yes of course. Allow me to finish this chapter, if you will.”

Combeferre could hear the rustling of fabric as Enjolras removed more clothing, and it was a difficult task to avoid wondering exactly how much remained as the bed creaked, Enjolras settling himself in for the night. Concentrating on the words in front of him had become impossible, but he remained sitting for several more minutes, attempting to puzzle out whether the depth of affection he felt for the other man might signify something more than friendship, combined as it was with this sudden attraction.

Finally Combeferre rose, placing the book on a nearby shelf and his spectacles on top of it. He did not feel that he should take off his clothes in Enjolras’ presence, his thoughts as they were, and after fumbling with the buttons of his waistcoat he decided to leave on his shirt and trousers rather than change into a nightshirt. Usually he followed Enjolras in his lack of modesty; tonight it felt like a betrayal of the trust his friend placed in him by being so comfortable in his presence. 

After blowing out the last of the candles, Combeferre made his way to the bed in the dim moonlight, carefully trying to avoid brushing up against Enjolras, who seemed to be almost in the middle of the mattress. Casual touches for comfort or support were nothing unusual, were even explicitly welcome, between the two, but at that moment it did not seem right. 

Enjolras however, oblivious to his inner turmoil, disregarded the space between them and shuffled closer, throwing an arm across Combeferre’s stomach and pressing his torso against his side. Combeferre forced his breathing to remain even and his body still, even as he felt his skin prickle with heat radiating out from every point at which their bodies touched. Soft hair tickled his shoulder, but he resigned himself to spending the night unmoving on his back, waiting for this unwelcome feeling to pass by. A moment later, though, Combeferre let out an ungentlemanly shriek, jerking back as something painfully cold touched his bare ankle.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras muttered sleepily, withdrawing the offending foot. “It was cold here without you.”

“Do not be sorry, my friend,” he replied. Almost without thinking Combeferre sought to make Enjolras feel better, and reached down to take hold of Enjolras’ knee, pulling it up so that he had one leg swung over Combeferre’s own. Enjolras’ icy foot settled between his calves, and he hoped it would cool the heat coursing through him somewhat at the same time as warming his friend.

It did not help, however, and though Combeferre felt ridiculously happy in Enjolras’ thorough embrace, he was still very aware of him physically. Combeferre had not removed his hand from the cool, soft skin of Enjolras’ bare lower thigh, and unconsciously circled his fingers in the sparse dusting of hair there. Enjolras shifted and let out a small huff of breath, most probably from ticklishness though Combeferre entertained the possibility it was something else. 

For a brief moment Combeferre was almost overcome by the sudden urge to roll Enjolras onto his back and lay claim to his lips. It would be so easy in this position, to settle between those bare thighs and let Enjolras pull their bodies together. 

Ashamed by this impulse, Combeferre forced his eyes open, taking him away from his fantasy. But when he glanced at Enjolras, he saw that the other man’s eyes were open also, gazing at Combeferre with fondness and a gentle smile on his feminine face. 

In the next moment, Combeferre had leaned down to press their mouths together, though he could not recall ever deciding to do so. The kiss was short but not quite chaste, and the sensation of Enjolras’ plush lips against his own made Combeferre’s heart race. He pulled back a little, still close enough that their noses brushed, and squeezed his eyes shut in mortification as he awaited Enjolras’ reaction. After a moment, he felt a firm kiss being planted to his cheek. Combeferre barely avoided letting out a sob.

“Please do not take my reluctance for a lack of affection for you, my friend,” Enjolras whispered.

Combeferre wanted to beg him to stop, to humiliate him no further, but his throat was tight and the words failed to come.

“I love you more than I have loved or will love any other, besides France herself. I have never possessed any desire to take anyone as my lover, in the sense that a kiss often implies, but I hope that I am still able to show you how highly I value our friendship.”

Combeferre took a deep breath, trying to push aside his disappointment and focus on the very real joy which had risen in him when Enjolras had spoken of his affections. “I love you too, Enjolras,” he rasped, and rolled over in the bed. A second later Combeferre felt soft arms encircling his waist, and despite his expectations he was asleep in minutes.

 

When morning came and Combeferre stirred gently into wakefulness, his emotions rolled through his mind like waves beneath a boat. The first he experienced were those of warmth, contentment and safety, and Combeferre knew instinctively that it was Enjolras who was the cause, though it took a few seconds to connect it to the physical sensation of holding someone to his chest. He smiled lazily, opening his eyes and taking in the golden curls splayed across his torso. 

Seeing Enjolras’ pink lips, though, slightly parted as he slept, brought about the uncomfortable memory of last night. Embarrassment roiled in his gut, and he could not bear to think that he had almost tarnished what they had with his desires. Those desires, however, were absent now, even as he looked upon Enjolras – surely the most beautiful creature on Earth – who was dressed in nothing but a half-unbuttoned shirt and pressed against the full length of his body. 

Enjolras was his dearest friend, and the affection Combeferre had for him was vast, but not of that kind. A natural reaction from his body to having a beautiful young man in his bed – not the first – had simply been interpreted the wrong way. Enjolras had claimed he had no need for a lover, and though Combeferre could not say the same he realised he had been mistaken last night in thinking he wanted Enjolras to play that part. He loved Enjolras with such force that it made him want to proclaim it from the rooftops, and would follow him to the end of their days, but this was the kind of love that had little relation to his concepts of wooing, sexual relationships, and the bonds of marriage.

Enjolras’ eyes opened slowly, long eyelashes fluttering against pinkened cheeks. “Good morning,” he pronounced, voice croaky.

“Good morning,” Combeferre replied, stroking through blond curls. 

Enjolras leaned into the touch, sighing with contentment. “What day is it today?” he asked.

Combeferre chuckled, amused at this facet of his friend which he was now allowed to know: that Enjolras was not his usual busy, animated self for some time after waking. “It is a Sunday. Neither of us have plans until the afternoon, as far as I am aware.”

“Then let us remain for a while,” Enjolras murmured. “Perhaps you could read to me from that book you were so captivated by last night.”

“The book on magnetism?” Combeferre asked sceptically. “I do not think it would hold your interest.”

“If it interests you, my friend,” Enjolras stated, levering himself up a little so he could share an earnest smile with Combeferre, “then it interests me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://veganvenom.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
